it's a young world
I live on the edge of
drain that old bladder--
half a flagon is too much
to turn yet a new leaf
before it falls to the sere
a habit of place etches
into settling addiction
to feed the trade of goods
beyond want waste & rot
to keep the waves of fear
& smoldering doubt at bay
we build high walls
on higher ground
set a flat roof over the damp
tremor of our expectations
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